


Society Kitten

by Phnx



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phnx/pseuds/Phnx
Summary: Kent and Tater have been one another's emergency fake-boyfriends for as long as they've known each other, and they've known each other for... Well, it's been a while.





	Society Kitten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suica/gifts), [RogueMarieL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueMarieL/gifts).



> Rated for occasional profanity and mentions of alcohol inebriation.
> 
> Based on the prompt by RogueMarieL:
> 
>  
> 
> _Sometime before they met on the ice, they met in a coffee shop and somehow just never mentioned it to anyone. The other thing they didn’t mention? They’re engaged._
> 
>  
> 
> _Fake relationship and somehow they fall in love before the wedding. Should also include at least one mention of Kit Purrson or her instagram/twitter. Who knows why they’re engaged -- they met at a coffee shop, and maybe one of their recent dates was like OH I SEE YOU’VE MOVED ON or something, and they just… go with it. Eventually a parent is told and it’s all WELL GUESS WE’RE ENGAGED NOW and there just isn’t any going back. Or maybe not. That’s up to the writer. I just want a fake relationship fic that somehow involves a coffee shop._
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you like it!

Rule number 1 of being the face of an extremely successful franchise: don't follow your own tag on social media. And _definitely_ never engage with it. Ever.

 **Fuck you @ZimmerGurl123** , Kent types, taking a swig directly from his bottle of wine. **You wish you had moves like these**

ZimmerGurl123 and her friends have a lot to say about Kent's most recent clubbing experiences. So does Kent's agent. Kent can't scream at Mr Aren't You Ever Going to Grow the Fuck up Kent the way he wants, but he _can_ tell random Zimmermann fans that their hair is fugly, and so he does with great passion.

 **Oh like urs is any better Cowlick Kenny** , says ZimmerGurl123 spitefully. Kent scowls at his phone, which is beginning to look worryingly hazy. He takes another gulp of wine and finds to his surprise that his vision does not improve.

 **Oh yea?** he types out. **OH YEA?!?!! Beat this hair bitch**

He uploads a photo of Kit, her long fur combed and gleaming, her big eyes staring beseechingly into the camera from beneath a cat-sized Marie Antoinette wig.

 **...ok u win** , says ZimmerGurl123.

Kent fist pumps triumphantly, sloshing wine all over his kitchen floor. Oops. Good thing he hadn't made it to his carpeted living room when he chose to relive his existential crisis from the comfort of his own home rather than another Vegas club. Ew, Vegas clubs. They're all terrible. _Terrible._

Feeling magnanimous in his victory, Kent decides to share a little of his wisdom with ZimmerGurl123, who clearly needs advice. **That club tho, do not recommend,** he tweets sadly. **Total losers… they didn't back off even when I told them about my fiance and how jealous he gets**

And that is how Kent Parson, Captain of the Las Vegas Aces, comes out before deity-of-choice and country.

ZimmerGurl123's response of **????!!!** goes unnoticed by Kent, who is already passed out when the notification dings, but the 23 voicemails from his agent and the 247 texts from his team and management are a little harder to ignore in the unforgiving light of the following mid-afternoon.

There are no messages from Alexei Mashkov, Kent's long-term fake fiance.

\---

Some people are only Catholic at Christmas and around their mothers. Kent is only engaged at clubs and, yes, around his mother.

"It's just, I hate it when people think it's alright to really aggressively hit on me out of nowhere, you know?" Kent had explained to a bored fellow English-speaking patron in a small Liberec cafe one day, years and years ago during the World Junior Ice Hockey Championship. "You seem fine and everything--you're actually crazy hot, wow--and you’re obviously great at hockey, or you wouldn’t be here in that Team Russia tracksuit, but--uh, what was I--right, so, just because I'm kind of famous, and just because I like to go out dancing and clubbing, that doesn't mean I'm here for you to pick me up or whatever."

"Yes," said the fellow patron in a rolling drawl. He didn't seem much older than Kent, but his voice was already frustratingly deep. "Is very sad. But I'm not try for pick you up, I'm just want sugar. For coffee, yes?" The patron waved to the steaming paper cup in his hand meaningfully.

"Oh," said Kent, moving hastily aside. "Sorry."

The patron dumped packet after packet of sugar in his coffee, turning back to Kent as he did so. "Why are you not telling people you have boyfriend? Then they stop, I think."

"I _do_ have a boyfriend," said Kent defensively, and then he hesitated, imagining what Jack's expression would be if Kent went around calling him 'boyfriend.' "Kind of."

"You tell people this?"

"What if they want proof? My guy, I don't think--I mean, he's not ready to--"

The patron sighed exasperatedly and reached into his pocket to pull out a pen. "Hand," he demanded.

Against his better judgement, Kent found himself holding his hand out.

The patron grabbed his hand and carefully penned tidy letters and numbers along Kent's wrist. "Now, bad people bother you, you say, 'I have boyfriend.' Still bother, you call me. You say, 'Alyosha, need save.' Then I talk on phone like boyfriend, yes? So bad people believe."

The patron--Alyosha?--released Kent's hand and slipped the pen back into his pocket. "Now I go, drink coffee. You call, yes?"

"I--" Kent felt himself turning slightly red. "Yeah, whatever." Like hell was he going to call some random guy for this. He looked down at the writing on his wrist. "Wait… You wrote this in Russian, you asshole!"

Alyosha laughed even as he opened the door to leave the cafe. "I'm Russian, I write Russian! How else I write? You want read, you learn Russian, too!"

Even Kent had to admit that this was fair. Still, when he got back to his team's hotel, Kent went straight to the concierge. "Hi," he said, smiling sweetly. "Do you know where I can buy an international calling card?"

After all, the numbers were all the same.

To Kent's further consternation, Alyosha's brush-off advice totally worked.

\---

"Oh my god," says Kent into his hands. "This isn't that hard to follow? Sometimes I tell people I'm already seeing someone to get them off my back at clubs, okay? That's all I meant in that tweet. I was saying the clubbers were so rude that they didn't back off even when I made up a boyfriend."

"You didn't phrase it as a hypothetical," says Kent's evil agent of doom, exchanging a long look with the Aces owner and PR manager.

"I was drunk!"

"Okay, you were drunk," says the PR manager soothingly. "But you still used male pronouns. Even if we do go with the fake boyfriend story--"

"It's the truth!"

"--You're still coming out. Which is fine! Really, the Falconers have set down a lot of the groundwork for us now with Zimmermann, so I don't see there being any problem."

Kent opens his mouth to protest, but the PR manager holds up his hand. "We could probably get around you coming out," he says. "But is it really worth the effort if you'll be coming out in a few years anyway? Unless you're not actually…"

Kent scowls down at the table in front of him miserably.

"More to the point," says the owner, her voice dry. "If you don't really have a fiancé, why does your mother tell me that she sees him every major holiday?"

"Uh," says Kent. "Fuck."

"Hmm," says the owner.

"You idiot," says his agent.

\---

Kent almost couldn't believe it when the call connected. "Hey, Alyosha? This is, uh, Kent. We meet in Liberec?"

"Kent Parson! You keep number? Most surprised!"

Kent flushed, feeling caught out. "Yeah."

"I watch draft. Congratulations, first pick!"

"I, yeah, thanks."

"Are you okay? You're not sounding happy."

"It's just--it's been a pretty emotional few weeks. My boyfriend and I broke up, for one thing."

"I'm sorry, Kent Parson."

"Yeah, well, I--I guess I was a pretty shitty boyfriend, because he was--and fuck, I didn't even _notice_."

Alyosha was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe you bad boyfriend," he said finally.

Kent huffed out a surprised laugh. Alyosha was meant to be _comforting_ him, damnit.

"Maybe you most bad boyfriend. Most bad in world. But now you know, so you do better next time, yes?"

Kent couldn't help but smile. "I hope so."

"And you go for dancing, and you tell you have boyfriend, and you call me, and I talk, yes? Okay?"

Kent closed his eyes against his tears. "Thank you, Alyosha."

"And maybe I call you?"

"What?"

"My mama, she is always say I need girlfriend, need boyfriend, always want that I meet children of friends. So bad! Maybe I tell her I'm already have boyfriend in America? Too far for meet, but she can talk on phone for proof? I want quiet summer, no more strangers!"

Kent laughed. "That's fine with me."

"And next year, we play best hockey in NHL."

"Yeah," said Kent. "Yeah, we will."

\---

Kent is still wondering what he's going to tell Alyosha when his phone--finally unburdened from the masses of teammate correspondence--lights up with a notification. Not a text or a call, he notices, but a tweet. It is, however, from Alyosha.

 **My fiance is too mean!** Alyosha has written in reply to ZimmerGurl123's thread. **Your hair is very pretty**

What. The. Fuck.

Kent texts Alyosha, **You realize we're seriously getting married now?**

The response comes almost instantly. **We're seriously getting married since we told my Mama and Papa. Last week your mama asked me what cake I like best for the wedding. You think the wedding is not happening? It is happening**

Kent texts back, **...Touche**

The thing is, it's different to think of carrying their fake relationship and eventual fake engagement (a fake relationship can only be touted for so long before the audience begins to have certain expectations) through in front of their respective families, where Alyosha is warm and sweet and pink from his father's teasing, and everything feels so gentle and loving and real. It's different to think of being introduced to Alyosha's team, where they all know--where _Jack_ knows--that there's no way someone like Kent could ever land someone like Alyosha.

 **Aren't you embarrassed to tell your team about me?** he can't help but ask.

 **No!!** Alyosha responds. **Why are you so stupid always???**

And then, **I tell your mama my favorite cake is beet cake**

Kent bursts out laughing, sending Kit dashing away from where she'd been inching behind him with a clear plan to bat at his cowlick. **You are so disgusting. I'd call off the wedding, but I've already started planning Kit's outfit**

Alyosha, of course, agrees that this is an insurmountable obstacle, simultaneously solidifying Kent’s faith in their upcoming nuptials and filling him with a warm glow.

\---

When Kent opened the hotel room door for Alyosha, he said, “I’m not sorry.”

Alyosha scowled at him and shoved a bag of take-out into his arms. The food smelled delicious. “I’m already know you’re sorry. Don’t have to say.”

“I did what I had to do in order to win the game for my team,” Kent continued, gesturing for Alyosha to follow him into the room and join him in sitting at the little hotel desk that would serve as their dinner table.

“Better to lose and not be dirty rat,” said Alyosha.

Kent pointedly ignored Alyosha and began pulling out and opening the little containers of food. Alyosha had brought all of his favourites. “I took a risk, but no one was hurt.”

“Mama and Papa watch game tonight. They see Kent Parson play, maybe think he’s bad boyfriend.”

Kent’s hand slipped, and he almost spilled pho all over the synthetic surface of the desk. The Mashkovs had always been so warm to him, cooing over him and patting at his cheeks and smiling at him sweetly as though they were proud to see him with their son. He struggled to regain his composure. “Well, I guess it’s better that they find that out about me now rather than later,” he said dully.

Alyosha sighed and pulled Kent in against him in a tangle of too-long limbs. “So stupid,” he said. “Always you are using Twitter, talk with fans, and still you can’t say. I’m speak better English than you.”

“The Twitter is for Kit,” Kent replied, his voice muffled against Alyosha’s chest. “She’s the social media whiz, the queen of the society pages, not me.”

“Hmm,” said Alyosha. “Maybe you watch Kit and practise lots, and then you can become good speaker, like society kitten.”

Kent snorted. “My dream,” he said wryly.

Alyosha pressed a quick kiss to Kent’s hair. “My mama and papa love you. They worry today, say you look angry, sad when play, think maybe Falconers are saying mean things to you.”

“No,” whispered Kent. “It’s just me. I’m the mean one.”

“So you listen to society kitten and fake boyfriend, and we teach you how to be good. Lesson one: say, ‘Sorry, Alyosha. I play mean today. Next game, I will play better.’”

Kent didn’t say anything. He just stayed curled up into Alyosha and let his big hands stroke through his hair.

Alyosha eventually pulled away and told Kent silly stories about his family as they ate. He cleared up the empty containers when they were finished, pressed a kiss to Kent’s forehead, and left quietly.

It was nearly midnight when Kent finally picked up his phone. Alyosha answered right away despite sounding like he had been woken from sleep. “Kent? Hello?”

Kent cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Alyosha,” he said. “I--I played a bad game today, but next time, I’ll play clean. I’ll be better.”

Kent could hear Alyosha’s smile when he said, “See? All better. Soon you be society kitten like Kit.”

Kent laughed, and he felt better than he had for ages.

\---

It's not until the following summer, when their vows have already been exchanged and Kent is wandering around their crowded reception with Alyosha's arm wrapped snugly around him, that it occurs to Kent to ask. "Wait," he whispers into Alyosha's ear, "Is this for real, or is this still fake for our parents and the team and everyone?"

Alyosha gives him a fondly exasperated look. "The papers we signed, those were real," he tells Kent, cuffing him gently.

"Yes," Kent rolls his eyes, "the marriage is for real, but I mean, are we?"

Alyosha meets his eyes. "I'm for real," he says quietly. "Are you?"

Kent tries to bite back his smile and fails miserably. "Yeah. I'm for real, too."

He stands up on the tips of his toes to give Alyosha their second ever kiss, only an hour after their first one. This one goes on long enough to earn some rude whistles and an, "Oh _my_ ," from Eric Bittle.

"Glad we got that sorted out," Kent grins when he finally pulls away.

When Alyosha has moved away to greet more of his teammates, Kent's agent sidles up. "Wow, look at how incredibly fake your fiance is," he says dryly.

"Shut up," says Kent. "I hate you. Who even invited you?"

His agent rolls his eyes, but he doesn't leave without a covert hug and congratulations. 

Kent heads over to where Kit is holding court over her masses of admirers and bends down to snap a quick selfie. He tweets the photo at ZimmerGurl123 with the smug caption **How does my hair look NOW**

ZimmerGurl123 replies disconcertingly quickly. **Still stupid af** , she has written. **Kit looks great tho**

Kent considers this seriously for a long moment and decides he'll take it.

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> While both Tater and Kent were insistent that their wedding should involve only their closest family and friends (i.e., teammates), they were both equally insistent that Eric Bittle receive his own, personalised invitation to the Parson-Mashkov wedding. Tater considered Bitty to be too close of a friend for him to not be included on the guest list, while Kent took great pleasure in denying Jack the opportunity to RSVP with a plus one. Really, it was a win-win.


End file.
